


I've Had It!

by luvsanime02



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bigotry & Prejudice, Drugged Draco, Gen, Humor, M/M, Mild Language, Possibly Pre-Slash, Post-Hogwarts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-21
Updated: 2016-02-21
Packaged: 2018-05-22 10:12:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6075396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luvsanime02/pseuds/luvsanime02
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco wakes up in Muggle London with no idea how he got there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I've Had It!

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is dedicated to Steph for giving me the idea of Draco in black leather trousers, and also reminding me about Hermione drugging Crabbe and Goyle.

**Disclaimer:** The HP universe belongs to Rowling.

########

 **I've Had It!** by luvsanime02

########

Someone was shaking his shoulder.

Draco Malfoy groaned, and rolled over onto his stomach. He couldn't believe someone was being rude enough to come into his bedroom and shake him awake like this. Especially when his head was pounding uncomfortably, and his throat felt as dry as sand.

Someone’s hand was shaking his shoulder again, a little more gently than before, but it was the completely unfamiliar voice in his bedroom that made Draco’s eyes startle open in surprise.

"You alright, lad?" the voice asked. Draco was too busy staring at the cement his head was apparently laying on to answer. The last thing he remembered, Draco had fallen asleep in his bedroom, as usual. What was he doing now on the ground? Was this Diagon Alley?

Bracing himself on his elbows, Draco rolled back over and faced the mysterious voice. He then froze and squeezed his eyes shut as the world started to tilt, instead listening as a hundred different sounds seemed to assault his ears all at once. He heard dozens of people talking over each other, some sort of odd, rumbling noise, and unmistakable but really unfamiliar music.

Right. Draco was getting his wand out right now. Hurriedly, his right hand reached into his left sleeve. Or it would have, if he'd had any. Blinking in surprise, Draco looked down at himself.

Well, he'd gone to bed starkers, so he probably shouldn't be too upset at finding out that he was, in fact, dressed now. Except that he was upset, because what in Merlin's name was he wearing?

The trousers weren't right. They were a shiny sort of black, and clung to his legs, and were made of a material he’d never seen before. Almost like dragon hide, but not quite. The shirt was far worse, very short-sleeved and red. An orange-red that Draco would never wear voluntarily. It bore far too much resemblance to Weasley hair for his tastes. It also probably clashed horribly with his complexion, and it definitely didn't go with the trousers, black or not. His feet were covered with hideous trainers the same horrid colour as the shirt.

"Lad?" the same voice asked again. Draco's head snapped back up in horror as he remembered the man in front of him, the _Muggle_ who'd clearly found him unconscious in an alley with no idea why he was there. The Muggle was crouched down in front of Draco, wearing a concerned expression, and his hand was reaching out towards Draco, as if he might touch him again.

The thought of a Muggle touching him while he was unconscious was enough to cause bile to rise up in the back of his throat, though he managed to swallow it back down. He was alone, in the Muggle world, and someone had dressed him in Muggle clothes and taken his wand away. Before he could contain it, a noise of pure panic fell out of his mouth.

"Sorry?" the Muggle asked, looking even more concerned, and still not moving away.

"Don't touch me," Draco hissed, frantically crawling backwards in a completely undignified manner, but unable to help himself. He could not bear the thought of being touched again by the Muggle.

He tried to take in a deep breath, but that only made him realise that even the air smelled different here, like something rotten that was seeping out from invisible sores in the sky and oozing onto everything below.

Draco's vision swam again, and the harsh panting in his ears alerted him to the fact that he was hyperventilating so fast he could hardly breathe. He forced himself to take in slower breaths until his vision cleared a little.

Once he felt the nausea recede some, Draco hastily stood up. The Muggle followed suit, and Draco turned away from him, darting out the other side of the alley, ignoring the startled shout behind. He immediately had to flatten his back against the wall of the nearest building in order to narrowly avoid being run into by someone.

Another Muggle, Draco knew from his clothing, and now nothing could stop his panic from rising up unchecked. Muggles were all around him, everywhere he looked. He still didn't know where he was, and right now, he couldn’t even bring himself to care. Fear overtook him, such as he hadn't felt in over a year, since before Potter had destroyed the Dark Lord, and Draco ran.

He ran as fast as he could, darting around Muggles and through other alleyways. Draco didn't know how long it was before the stitch in his side became too much and he doubled over, gasping for air. When his side ached less, he straightened up, silently cursing. Now that he’d stopped, Draco worried that he was even more lost than before.

From the dimness of the light, Draco assumed that it was early morning. By now, his parents would have noticed that he was missing, due to his absence at breakfast, but how would they find him out here? Draco was going to have to get back home, or at least somewhere civilised, by himself. His shiver at that thought had nothing to do with the temperature, which was already hotter and muggier than Draco appreciated. The summer heat was not something he wanted to deal with right now, on top of everything else, but Draco wasn’t exactly being given a choice about it.

There were still Muggles everywhere. Draco knew intellectually that there were more of them than there were Wizards, but he'd never seen so many of them all packed into one place. What he was witnessing was insane, a circus of unbelievable sights and sounds. Taking another deep breath in order to brace himself, Draco looked around in desperation, waiting impatiently for some spark of inspiration. He eventually looked up at the nearest street signs, hoping against all logic that he would find himself near some familiar landmark.

The names were as foreign as everything else, and Draco ruthlessly squashed the disappointment that rose up inside of him. Really, he hadn't expected a miracle, but he needed something to go on. All he really noticed were the south and north, and then east and west, directions. Pausing, he thought it over for a moment before picking west. After all, if Draco was in London (and he sincerely hoped that no other Muggle community was this large), then Wiltshire was west of that, he thought.

A few hours later, Draco was officially having the worst day of his life. The Dark Lord couldn't compare to this. Draco would almost have rather been subjected to the Cruciatus Curse than deal with this. Merlin, he didn't just need a bath anymore; he needed a good few hundred cleansing spells in order to make himself feel clean again. There was rubbish everywhere, there were little white cylinders that some Muggles put to their mouths that smelled as disgusting as pipe tobacco, and no less than four Muggles had grabbed onto his arms, touching his bare skin, and tried to ask for money or directions.

Draco was tired. He'd never walked this much before in his entire life, not even at Hogwarts, without having a rest. The trousers he was wearing were stuck fast to his skin with sweat. Worse, Draco could see that the skin on his arms was turning more and more red as the day wore on.

Not to mention the fact that he was starving.

Still, Draco thought that he was finally making progress of a sort. He was walking down a street that didn't seem to have as many Muggles on it, which was a relief. The buildings all looked older as well, more like the ones that he was used to, though some of them had boards across their windows and the doors were wide open. It was quieter around here, too.

Best of all, in his opinion, no one had even looked Draco's way in more than ten minutes. He felt something inside his stomach slowly start to relax. Yes, he could do this. He would show whoever had dumped him in the middle of the Muggle city like this (and if he ever found out who, they would pay) that he, Draco Malfoy, could survive anything.

It was then that he noticed a woman walking his way. Draco wrinkled his nose and sneered at her dress. It barely came down to her thighs, was sleeveless, and very low in the front. Shuddering at how much of the Muggle’s skin was on display, Draco moved pointedly to walk widely around her.

The last thing he’d expected was for her to step right into his path and loop her arms around his waist. Draco froze in absolute disbelief. Before he could manage to throw her off, she then grabbed his arse and _squeezed_. "Fancy I could show you a good time, luv?" her voice purred into his ear.

Draco's vision went white. He shoved the disgusting Muggle as far from his body as possible, and started yelling at the top of his lungs.

"I've had it!" he bellowed. "Whoever the hell you are, you're dead! The Dark Lord is going to be nothing compared to me when I get through with you! Muggles and rubbish, and lunatics everywhere! And where's my wand?!" he practically roared.

If he'd thought that his throat hurt before, that was nothing compared to how it felt now. Draco ignored it, though, ignored the pain, ignored the Muggle woman on the ground swearing at him, and began ranting some more. "I can't even summon the Knight Bus! How am I supposed to get home?! There’s not a House Elf in sight, either! I don’t _believe_ this-!”

It was quite awhile later, or at least it seemed so to Draco, when he noticed the camera flashes going off on the side of the road, and a team of Obliviators finally showed up on the scene. Apparently, he could stand outside and yell secrets about the Wizarding world all day long and it wouldn't matter unless someone else from the Wizarding world heard and alerted the Ministry. No, what had summoned them to Draco's presence, and what had apparently alerted the press about a good scoop, was the accidental magic that had finally burst forth from a very frustrated Draco Malfoy, shattering some of the lamps along the street.

But Draco didn't care. He didn't even care that now he would have to spend some time with the Aurors, detailing what had happened. No, Draco was getting out of this place, away from all of the disgusting sounds and smells, and far away from people who would grab a random person's arse without so much as a by-your-leave, and that was good enough for him.

He could deal with his parents later. He could deal with the Aurors. Right then, he could have even dealt with Harry sodding Potter if the Golden Gryffindor had shown up and pointed out the way back to the Wizarding world. Telling himself not to ponder the idea of that lunacy too much, since it was obviously proof that he'd spent too long in the sun, Draco was finally side-along Apparated to the Ministry, where he would happily answer all of their tedious queries as long as they made him a strong cup of tea and possibly a sandwich.

########

The next morning, Harry Potter Floo'ed through to Hermione Granger's fireplace, only to find out that their other best friend, Ron Weasley, was already there.

"No one made you take that bet, Ron!" Hermione said, sounding far too smug.

"I didn't think you were actually barmy enough to set it up!" And that was Ron, sounding extremely put out about something.

Harry paused, wondering if he really wanted to know after all. After a moment, he decided that, yes, he did, actually. He walked calmly into the kitchen to see Hermione sitting on the far side of her breakfast pub, facing him and enjoying a cup of tea. A copy of _The Daily Prophet_ was laid out beside her plate of eggs and bacon with toast. Ron had his back to Harry, clearly unaware that he was there, and Harry saw that clenched in his right hand was another copy of _The_ _Prophet_.

"Seriously, Hermione," Ron continued, "have you lost your mind?!"

Hermione, who had removed her gaze just long enough from Ron to wink surreptitiously at Harry, raised her eyebrows in a false expression of mild surprise. "Well really, Ron, how else could the bet have been decided, unless one of us did something about it?"

"This bet wouldn't have had anything to do with this, would it?" Harry smoothly interjected, holding up his own copy of the paper. The front headline proudly proclaimed **‘Malfoy Scion Slumming with Muggles!’** , and there was a picture below it of Draco Malfoy in obviously Muggle clothes, shouting and waving his arms dramatically. The article proclaimed a sensational tale of a love affair gone wrong, and how Malfoy had been ditched in the Muggle world by his scorned lover. Rita Skeeter’s work, he had no doubt. Harry had taken one look at the colour of the shirt and trainers Malfoy had on, and had then promptly abandoned his own breakfast to visit Hermione.

His voice made Ron wheel around. Seeing that he had an audience, Ron wasted no time in brandishing his own _Prophet_ , still clenched in his fist, at Harry's face. "It's not my fault!" Ron declared. "All I said was that there was no way a spoiled prat like Malfoy could survive alone surrounded by Muggles for more than one hour! How was I supposed to know that Hermione is off her rocker?"

Harry turned to Hermione, face expectant and not a little incredulous, only for Hermione to shrug her shoulders at him as if she hadn't a care in the world. "Ron bet me twenty Galleons. How else were we supposed to find out who was right, unless Malfoy visited a Muggle area?"

That almost made sense, except for the fact that Hermione had apparently _kidnapped_ Malfoy and dumped him alone in the middle of London.

"Ron, you'd better hurry, or you're going to be late opening up the shop for George," Hermione interjected, while Harry was still trying to come up with any kind of response. "You can give me the Galleons later," she added, as though it was an afterthought, and Harry was reluctantly amused by the splutter Ron let out before he looked at the clock, cursed, and ran into the living room. The Floo was heard going off a moment later.

There was a brief silence in the kitchen as Hermione sipped her tea some more, and Harry thought about how best to phrase his questions, or even which one he wanted to start with. Absurdly, the first thing out of his mouth was, "Hermione, were those Muggle clothes he had on transfigured, or-"

"No," Hermione cut in, voice still too calm. Harry could tell that she was holding back her amusement for his sake. "Those were authentic Muggle clothes, although I did have to change the colour of the shirt and trainers." She looked up at him with a twinkle in her eyes as she added, "That was what tipped you off that it was me, right?"

"Right," Harry agreed, because that was the truth. Well, nothing to do but continue with his questions, then. "And just how did you get Draco Malfoy to Muggle London, wearing Muggle clothes, and without a wand?" He paused, another thought occurring to him. "You don’t still have his wand, do you?"

Hermione waved one hand airily. "Oh no, that wasn't part of the bet at all." Somehow, that response didn’t exactly reassure Harry. "Getting him into Muggle clothing was easy. Do you remember those chocolate cakes I laced with Sleeping Draught for Crabbe and Goyle, when we needed their hair for that Polyjuice Potion?"

Harry's jaw dropped, and he couldn't quite bring it back up again, leaving his mouth still partly agape. "You _drugged_ him? You kidnapped and drugged Draco Malfoy, dressed him in Muggle clothes, and then left him alone and unable to defend himself in the middle of the city because you wanted to win a bet with Ron?!" Harry wanted his voice to sound disapproving, but all he could manage was disbelief. He wasn't even going to ask how Hermione had known Malfoy's size in Muggle clothing. "How did you manage to drug him, anyways?"

"Oh, that was easy, too," Hermione answered, still sounding far too cheery about the whole topic for Harry’s peace of mind. "I asked Kreacher to watch him for a week in order to learn Malfoy's routine, and apparently, Malfoy always has a cup of tea right before he goes to bed. So, all I had to do was have Kreacher slip the draught into Malfoy's cup."

Harry felt a sudden, strange desire to laugh, but he pushed the urge down. "And Kreacher agreed to this?" he asked, although he knew that the elf obviously had.

"Well..." and now Hermione finally sounded a tad anxious, "I may have told Kreacher that Malfoy badmouthed Regulus."

The laugh broke free at that, and Harry had to support himself up against the pub for several minutes. "Ron's right, you know," he told her, when he’d finally got his breath back. "You're dead scary sometimes, Hermione."

"You're going to be late for work," was Hermione's only response, although Harry could still hear the thread of humour in her voice.

"Right," Harry agreed, silently vowing to never drink anything Hermione gave him ever again without checking it thoroughly first. He was at the doorway between the living room and the kitchen when another thought occurred to him. A glance back over his shoulder revealed that Hermione was watching him, as though she was well-aware of what he wanted to know.

Harry wouldn't put it past her.

"Black leather trousers?" he asked.

Hermione finally let go of the grin that she'd been keeping bottled up during their entire conversation and beamed at him. "Consider it a thank you for not telling anyone else who was behind the whole thing."

Stunned, and not a little worried that perhaps his best friend knew him too well sometimes, Harry blindly grabbed some Floo powder and got out of there before Hermione could shock him anymore this morning.

Still, Harry made sure to take his copy of _The Daily Prophet_ , with Malfoy on the cover in tight leather trousers, with him when he left.


End file.
